The Hat
by Tozi
Summary: Jack lost the Pearl. Jack gains new acquaintances. And a hat. Because in the end, a hat is always useful.


Disclaimer : No wonder here I don't own anything. Not that I don't wish I did. Just think of the possibilities… I just made up some OCs, but of course, nothing as breath taking as our beloved Jack Sparrow...

This was to be a one-shot about how a Pearl deprived Jack had gotten his beloved Hat. It went way out of control, as you can see, since it almost deserved to be a three chaptered thing.

I humbly ask for your indulgence about any grammatical or phrasing mistake I could have made. I am french, and only started paying attention to english four years ago, so I lack experience in writing in a different language than mine. I still can't figure how in Shakespeare's name I was able to write something like that. Seems like I abide with the saying that beginners always get lucky...It's a french saying, so I don't know if it's know around here...

Actually, this was the most difficult thing about that story, the sayings. There are things I wanted to outline with some recurrent expression, and it suddenly occured to me that it didn't make sense at all in english...Too bad.

I also need to thank (and if somebody has a more intense word that means quite the same, i'll be gratefull to be informed so I can put it in place of "thank" here) Karibbean for her immense help. I just couldn't have done it if she hadn't offered her help and support. So, thanks Karibbean, and please accept a special dedication to you. The Hat owes its existence to you.

Have fun!

* * *

...

The pounding between his ears was enough to drive a deaf man crazy; especially since it didn't require any kind of hearing. The painful throb of the hangover was pulsing behind his eyes and eardrums with an unusually loud rise and fall buzzing rengaina, kind of like the sea ashore. Waves of discomfort crashing regularly against the inside of his forehead. He definitely had had too much of his most beloved elixir – rum – last evening. Night. Morning. Whatever. It required immediate medication with the most efficient cure in that particular case of brain illness – rum.

He rose, well he got credit for trying at least.

He sighed; and it was the most tired, distressed and painfilled sigh ever heard. One he managed to get out every morning after a drink-filled night.

This was the kind of morning where he couldn't bear the thought of getting up, even if he did not have the Kraken and Calypso playing water polo behind his eyeballs. If he did not want to get up was because he could feel, as profoundly as his bonemarrow, that this was going to be a day at the end of wich he would wish he'd never gotten up in the first place.

He was still tired for one, and could not fathom why he had woken up at all. His whole body felt as if made out of the heaviest lead, and his head – even after being awake for a few minutes, felt as if his brain had been removed during the night, and replaced with a cannon ball.

He was nested in his bed, warm and comfy and dry, with covers up to his chin and pillows everywhere around, and he could see cold, fat rain drops staining the window. And the wind whistled aroud the ship, and his eyes were burning, and suddenly his head was burning, and after a few more seconds his whole body was on fire. He shuddered, jerked his arms and legs around without control, and he began to feel fear.

What was happening to him?

What happened to him?

He felt cold, and curled on himself, shielding the outside and squeezing the blankets closer. He shook intensely, cold gripping his very bones, yet he felt warm sweat dripping down his forehead. He was naked. Completely naked. Nothing but what mother nature gave him to fend off the world.

As disturbing as it may sound, he had not been completely naked in years; maybe ever since he was a young child. He always had something he could count as cloth nearby, something he could call onto to hide his complete self. There always had been something he could use to be what he wanted the outside world to see him as. And here he had nothing but those foreign coverlets to hide beneath.

How in the world did he come about this ship anyway?

Thank Heaven he was alone, because he felt so unsettled and afraid he feared he might cry. Here he was. Sick, in pain, naked and on a strange ship, without any memories of how he could have gotten there. He was not afraid of dying – he knew he'd die someday, why fear it ? – he was afraid of not being in control. And right now, he felt so miserable, and vulnerable, and as helpless as a sick child that he feared he might act just like one and sob himself back to sleep.

And his Pearl…His Pearl was gone.

Now he had remembered that, he knew he would cry sometime today.

His Pearl Was Gone.

No other reality had ever hurt so much as that one.

His Pearl…His beloved Pearl. The Pearl he loved more than his own life.

His Black Beauty.

His Home.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to convince himself this was just one of his drunk nightmares. He would soon wake up in his cabin, ready to order around his crew to the nearest trade line, ready to fight, ready to die, and most of all on his Pearl he'd never ever left. And all of _this_ would be a quickly fading memory.

Yet it was not to be, for somebody screamed in a language he could not understand – dutch most surely – and this made the fact he was not on his Pearl all the more unavoidable.

The light tap of little feet rose and fell behind the door, somewhere in the cabin. He was aboard a passenger ship obviously. The bell-ringing laughter of the child resonated further down the passage, making his ears ache. If children were so energetic as to laugh meant they had recently stopped to refill food supplies. Maybe they would not stop again until they had reached their final destination.

He concentrated. Anything to keep his mind from the loss of his Pearl. That was a too recent wound for him to want to think about it. Now where could they – and him – be heading to. A passenger ship, transatlantic no doubt, with a dutch crew so far south ? How unusual.

The only dutch community he had ever heard of was in New Amsterdam. That was way farther up north than… Wait a minute. How long had he slept?

Again, panic seized him, and he felt like throwing up. This was no normal hangover. He had never had fever over a bit of rum. Even if the bit resumed itself to a few bottles.

There was no light lit in the cabin, so everything was bleached by the grey light coming through the small rain soaked window. The rain was so heavy he couldn't smell the salty remnants that always clung to windows at sea. Everything had been cleaned, and was soaking wet. Everything seemed drowned in greyness and sweet rainwater, and he found himself thinking it quite dull and yet strangely soothing. It made his pain more bearable, in a way.

He had no clue how long he had been awake. The pain he was in made it seem longer, he knew it, but it had to be sometime through because the light outside had changed. Or it was just a storm brewing.

The person who entered the cabin was so lightfooted he did not notice its appearance until it was halfway through the cabin to the bed.

It was a woman.

Well, she wore a dress, so it had to be a woman, but other than the dress, he couldn't make out much more, for his eyesight was blurry. He hoped he wasn't crying. She came closer and knelt at his bedside. She carried a bucket in her hands on top of which there was a small tray situated. Out of the belt holding her waist and skirts, she took a handkerchief so white it was almost blinding. She dabbed his eyes, and his vision cleared a bit, but not completely. Enough so he could make out her features and surroundings.

She was a bit older than he, he supposed. Thirty, at most. Brown eyes, white skin - bit to pale – small mouth with lips almost white. Two elegant brows arched high over her eyes, and hair properly tucked under a proper white bonnet, with a square behind and a very little lace over the forehead. She was no beauty – not an exotic one like he was used to – but she had an agreable face and approach.

« Have you been awake for long ? »

Her voice was very low, and she tried to make it as soft as possible, but it still made the drum between his ears rise the tempo a bit. She had a bit of an accent in her English, but it was light, and he could not make out where she was from. Something perked him up. She did not smell.

Usually, people at sea smell. She did not. No perfume, no dirt, no sweat, no flowers, no salty sea aftertaste. She did not have any distinctive smell that might have indicated any profession or social status. He could just make out the gentle smell of human warmth, sweet water, soft skin and gentle smile. It was very refreshing indeed, a person so devoid of smell. It was almost as if she wasn't here, and he was having a faint memory of the times before. If he was to cry in front of somebody, then he did not mind doing it in front of her that much.

She lifted the tray off the bucket, and plunged her handkerchief in the water inside. She then dabbed at his forehead with the cool cloth, and he closed his eyes. It was heaven. Never had water felt so wonderful. She extended her wet caresses to his whole face, and he could not find it in him to complain. She continued for what seemed an eternity, and when she stopped, he felt much more awake.

« Have you been awake for long ? »

He tried to answer this time, but he could only make up some grunty sound at the back of his throat. She did not seem affected by it. She arranged pillows against the wall behind the bunk, and with a steady strain of her arms helped him sit himself. His back ached, and he let out a faint throathy groan. Again she ignored it. She took a small cup off the tray and presented it to him. Water.

He wanted rum, but the only thought of actually speaking to ask for it was painfull enough to make him forget about it. Instead he drank the water. He felt it go down to his stomach with delight. His throat felt so dry that the very material of it drank up the water like a rain deprived soil. And then...

His Pearl was gone.

A tight knot settled itself in his stomach.

She brought up the cup again, and he drank like an obedient child. After the cup was emptied, she took his hand and squeezed it very, very softly. She had cool hands which felt heavenly against his burning – and burned skin. He raised his other hand and had a good long look at it.

He had always had a good tan, and it had been sufficient to ward off any discomfort the sun could cause ; but it seemed like it had not been enough in this situation. His hands, and now that he thought about it, his neck and face also – everything that was usually not covered by his clothes – felt thouroughly scorched.

« You had a sun stroke. »

The voice was more bearable now that he had drunk something. The cool hands rubbed his softly.

« You almost died. »

His Pearl was gone. Maybe he would be better off dead. He bit his burned lips, and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe it was not too late to wake up.

« We found you on our island. You weren't moving at all. »

He wanted to scream at her, for stating such dumb and obvious things. What good would it do to him to know he had not been moving when they found him, when something as distressing and dreadful as the Pearl disappearing had happened? How would it help? How would he get his ship back? His beloved ship… If he wasn't dead now it meant he was destined to get it back. How would he do? Where to start? Kill Barbossa. That scum would not live to tell the tale of a once Captain of the Black Pearl.

He opened his eyes and settled again on reality. He was shaking and sweating, and not a small part of it was due to his stroke. He turned to the woman at his side – he had a crick in his neck that throbbed painfully when he did so. She was eyeing him worriedly, rubbing his hand in an amazingly soft gesture. Nobody had ever been this soft with him. Tender, yes, in a sinful and taunting manner. Never tender with the « soft » meaning of the word. Maybe his father or mother, when he was very, very young ; so young he had no memory of it.

But at that time, it didn't matter. His Pearl was gone. The woman coud have been the most talented whore in the whole northern half of the world – heck _both_ halves of the world – and she would not have gotten a rise out of him. His Pearl was gone. _Gone_.

The further realisation of this made him feel sick again. It was painful. Just as painful as having a limb cut off. A whole arm or a whole leg missing could not have hurt more. He would gladly give his leg or arm if it meant having the Pearl back.

He could live without a leg or arm. Not without the Pearl.

It felt as if a great chunk of his spirit had been ripped out.

« My Pearl is gone. » Speaking hurt. His dried out lips bled a little, and his sore throat could only manage a whisper, barely above a breath. He winced, because he sounded exactly like what he didn't want to look like. A lost and abandoned little boy. He stole a glance toward the woman. She had a kind look on her face, but showed no pity. Gentle understanding, sadness, but over all a quiet serenity he suddenly envied.

« They mutinied on me, and left me on an island, somewhere. And now my Pearl is gone.

- The Pearl was your ship ?

- Aye. » She had a joyous smile, and a confident glitter in her eyes. She patted his hand.

« Then you'll get it back. Don't worry. » He eyed her suspiciously. She did not seem to take notice. « You'll see. If it's your ship, it won't agree to sail without you, and when you go to get it, it will come to you. » She pronounced every word very distinctly, almost separating each syllable to make sure she got the word right. It took her longer to speak than a native speaker, but it gave a slight exotic touch to her otherwise common appearance.

He would get his ship back. He was a patient man. Barbossa would make a mistake, some day, and he would be there to catch him at his worst.

The Pearl was his, even when he wasn't on board.

He turned to the woman, ignoring his painful neck.

« Wher' m I ?

- On board of the Dancing Nut. We're headed to Georgetown.

- Oh Damn. That far ?

- Yes, I'm afraid. »

Georgetown was way off course. He'd be stuck on this forsacken nut shell for weeks! He was a patient man, but he was no lazy fool!

« Dancing Nut huh ? Can't recall hearin' of it. Where does 't make berth ?

- Nowhere. And it is good that you have not heard of us. Smugglers you know…

- Oï. 'A see. 'Twas your rum A foun'.

- Yes it was. You drank a lot.

- 'Twas thirsty. Hot. Sun…

- We know. I don't mind.

- Really ?

- Aye. » She smiled. He found it difficult to believe. He did not recall exactly how much he had drunk during those days he spent on the island, but he was quite sure no bartender would let him drink so much without paying afterward. « I said to the crew to count what you had as my husband's part.

- And said husband didn min' ?

- He's dead. He died two days before we could make it to the island. He was the captain of the Dancing Nut. It should have gone to me and my sons, but they are very young, and I have no use to so much rum.

- A shame. »

She smiled a little, a small crooked smile, and lifted a plate off the tray. He squinted, trying to distinguish what was on it. Some kind of fruit it seemed.

She helped him eat, and stayed a little, dabbing his face a little more with the damp cloth. He fell asleep without noticing it.

...

During the following days, he slept a lot and seldom woke. When he did, it was to find somebody at his bedside who rose and called the woman, if she was not already at his side at the time. She made him drink, water, water, sugary water once, when he was too weak to eat, and water again. Like a helpless overgrown baby, he let her move him around, tending to him, trying desesperately to forget how miserable and humiliated he felt.

She didn't speak much. Most of the time when he was awake, she did not speak at all save to ask him how he was doing. He could speak better and better, but he still could not stay awake more than a few minutes at the same time. The woman – he had yet to learn her name – assured him he would wake one day and feel suddenly better, as soon as the fever had receeded.

And, as promised, one day, he woke feeling alive.

The room seemed to have settled down a bit, and the ship was definitely swinging around a lot less than previously. The light did not hurt his eyes that much, and the pounding between his ears was only faint, and strengh had returned to his arms, and a little to his legs and he felt just as he might get up.

He pushed on his hands, winced as the dry skin cracked a little, and sat. His head felt funny, but it was not too uncomfortable. A bit as if he had danced too much. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and took some deep breaths. Some chills came up his spine, and his sunburned face and hands were tingling intensely, but save that, everything was alright. He braced himself, and pushed on his legs and arms as much as he could.

He almost fell right away with the suddenness of his rise, surprised to have that much strengh left after who knew how many days abed. The ground was less still than he had first thought. He felt as if standing on the back of a dancing whale. A good hint as to how the name « Dancing Nut » had been born. He bent over, and then backward, and finally settled for a slight bending to the left to compensate his failing balance. Funny.

Just for the heck of it, he took a step forward. It sent him into motions he had never thought imaginable, and he barely retained a laugh. How fun! A little too much sun transformed his walking into an interesting game of « Dance If You Want To Remain Standing ». He took an other step and fell on his butt.

That is when he noticed he had an audience.

The cabin was a very narrow space. Barely wide enough to fit the bed, there were three other cots superposed one above an other alongside the wall. As a nightstand, there was a small desk nailed to the floor, with an inclination and curve at the bottom so the writer could set his bent elbow and be in balance when writing. The desk was nailed just beside the door, facing the bed on the opposing wall. Under the desk, there was a dirty little thing with wide eyes looking at him intently.

It must have been one of the sons the woman had mentioned.

It was a very little boy, with very light hair and wide blue eyes, the exact color artic icebergs took when dusk was settling. He was hunched on his heels, arms around his knees and nose in between them, his eyes only were visible above the dirty fabric of his breeches. He was barefoot, but the marking of cleaneliness around his ankles showed it was an exceptionnal happening.

The strangely glowing wide eyes had the intelligent and wild glint of a seagull's gaze. He felt suddenly at ease when looking into those eyes. Just as if the Pearl had been partly given back to him. He smiled widely to the boy, waving his hand in a friendly gesture, completely forgetting that he was stark naked. « Aye boy! Atta your name be? » The cautious glint turned to an amused one. The boy was smiling behind his knees.

« Leig Adriamson. And you ?

- Captain Jack Sparrow, pleas'd to meet you boy. »

The boy's head rose a bit over his knees, showing a pale little mouth and a slightly pointed chin and nose. That boy was a real sight to behold. He'd break every Caribbean heart in a few years time. « Mutty will be here in a few minutes.

- Good thing. 'M a little hungry 'ere. Think a could eat a whole seal all ba meself.

- Yuck. We tried it once. Seal flesh is absolutely disgusting.

- Too bad.

- Mutty says the only species one can eat are far north.

- Mutty's Mom righto ?

- Aye.

- Moms 're never wrong mate.

- And you're naked. »

Jack lowered his gaze and shrugged. « Nothing you've never seen me guess. » Still, the boy had said his mother would be there shortly, and he knew women did not react the same way to valid naked men than they did to sick naked men. Especially mothers of young children. « Where's me clothes boy? And me other things? » The boy unlocked his arms and showed to one of the bags hanging to a wall from a nail. Jack got up, took the bag, and sat on the bed.

His clothes had been washed, with soap and sea water. The scent was delightful. It smelled of ashes, water, salt, wind and soap mixed together. He took a deep breath while donning his shirt. That kind of smell – a characteristic of a ship where a woman resided – brought back memories. In the bag, he also found his gun – still loaded – his sword, his compass and his bandana.

There was a small pouch where the one that had been undressing him had stacked all of his hair trinkets. Those really were no pirates. They had been too afraid of him to steal from him when he was still unconscious. Some of those things were made of silver!

He donned his breeches, his boots and shirt. He was tying his belt over that wide sash at his waist when the door opened by the woman. She saw him dressed, and smiled. She bent over to glance under the desk and motioned to her son to move out. The boy grinned and hurried out the door. The women straightened, and smiled again. « I take it you feel much better.

- I walk funny.

- This is to be expected. It should dim a bit over time, but you should avoid being in the sun too long if you don't want to cause further damage.

- I hope it won't dim to much. I thought it funny. » She bestowed him a long look, and then smirked « I guess you would, Mr… ?

- Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow.

- Oh. Then the name of the ship was the Black Pearl, wasn't it ?

- Aye. »

She settled on the bed at his side, and lifted her hand to rest on his forehead. She hummed, and said. « You have a surprisingly strong health, Captain Sparrow. I expect you will be able to help maneuvring in two days time. For now, you'll just have to get back to solid food, walking straight, and breathing in the fresh air and sea. I think you'll find very interested guides in my sons. Especially the older one. » She sighed and rose. She patted her dress to brush off some invisible dust, and whispered. « Please keep in mind that they are children, incredibely foolish little boys, maddeningly curious about anything new in their life. »

And with that, she excited the room leaving him alone to tie his hair back.

The Dancing Nut was a very small ship. No armory, maybe a single rusty cannon at the fore. Maybe two. Some muskets. Below the deck, storage and a row of small spartan cabins, that could fit six to four people, bunk beds lining up to the roof. And below the cabins and first storage rooms, more storage space and special caches were they stacked the contraband.

The gallery was very narrow and dark. It was also slightly damp and smelled of wet and salty old wood. He smiled crookedly in remembrance. His own first appliance to a ship had not been very different. He expected his first ship had been built on the same model as this tiny schooner, only with a different name. It gave a jerk – whooops ! – and he danced joyfully down the corridor to the galley.

When he didn't think about his beloved Pearl's disappearance, he did have a mind to laughter. He was used to sea legs, but this was much better. Made life exciting and all… But first, he needed to get something solid to eat, for he felt ravenous. And secondly, he needed rum. He could stand, that was indication enough that he was very much able to handle alcohol. The galley – if his memories and guessing were right, would be on the right to the last cabin.

Well, geographically, his guessing had been right, but in other matters, he couldn't be farther away from the truth. This…This could definitely not be a normal galley. He must have been transported suddenly to a very fashionable location, because this place, which he could only assume to be the galley, was probably the cleanest kitchen and dining room in the whole Caribbean. This place was sparkling, every piece of furniture carefully scrubbed clean of soot, dust, moist and grease that could have accumulated. It was obviously the work of the woman – it was then that he realized that he still did not know that woman's name and so decided on Mrs Adriamson. The state of the corridor made it be known that she was not taking care of the whole ship, and he felt suddenly relieved. Women were welcome to some extent, when it came to qualities, but on a ship, some dirt was necessary. He personally thought that it made one feel quite homy when a steady smell of a sweating body inhabited living quarters.

At least the galley, in its spotless state, promised something to eat of a higher quality than what he was used to.

He easily found bread and rum, some salted pork and canned onions. There were also some nuts, marinated vegetables, and a fresh mango. He ate a little of each, and drank eagerly long gulps of mild and sweet rum. Food felt strange in his mouth, a foreign and unsettling sensation. He knew the taste of everything he ate, for he already had had them often during his life, yet everything seemed new and unfamiliar, as if their taste had changed during the time he had been out, and nobody had cared to tell him about it.

And yet, thankfully, rum still tasted as heavenly as ever.

As he sat at the hard wooden table, his elbows on the edge and his mug carefully craddled in between his entwined fingers, he contemplated more seriously the situation he was in.

He had to figure out where they were, and possibly convince them to let

him ashore before they reached Georgetown. He was completely broke, and to make his way back into the Caribbean Sea from Georgetown would be hellish if he could not find any pirate ship heading for Tortuga. At least they had no intention to make the whole way up to Florida. That was top priority. He also had to settle down an aggreement concerning his stay. Sea rules stated they were obligated to rescue him, and grant him stay on their ship, but if they still had some days to go before making it to shore, there was no way they would let him spend his days eating, drinking and sleeping.

He then made the count of his relations. He faintly remembered some men during his unconscious time, with a blurry face or mumbling voice, but no more than that. He knew the woman – though not her name – and the little boy. Leig Adriamson, he had said. Those two were precious allies. Women always had a soft spot for him, and he could make sure the boy would bid for him also. The wife and son of the former Captain. If the men on this ship were superstitious enough, and had the late Captain Adriamson been well liked by his crew, he could manage something to his advantage.

How the Hell had he come down to this situation ? Everything had been going on so well…Everything had been perfectly fine, steady, easy…And then…The memory of it seemed so distant now, as if completely removed from his life and mutated to some kind of nostalgic fantasy.

Barbossa…Barbossa would die.

He had a very distinct memory of his former first mate loading the gun as he stood on the wooden plank protuding from the Pearl a league away from the tiny island he had been marooned on. The man had stood firmly on his legs, smirking evily with a glint of triumph lighting his eyes. His wide hat shadowed his face, and the sun barely made it to the miserable scruffy beard the man proudly forgot to properly trim.

He had extended his hand, and some now anonymous crew man had laid a single-shot gun in it, with a grin and mean snickering. Barbossa had taken one of his own bullets to load the gun, along with some of his own powder. He had made a wide show of his loading, gloating with pride and smugness over his former Captain. He then tucked the gun in Jack's belt, faking care and tenderness, cooing bemusedly at the dismayed Jack Sparrow, having his crew laugh stupidly over their crime. Barbossa would die by his own gun, bullet and powder. He knew tradition asked of him that he hung the one that lead the mutiny on him, but he didn't want to make Barbossa pay for a mutiny.

Mutiny was normal. It could happen to anybody, and Jack could even forgive him if he gave back the Pearl without a fight.

However, making fun of him, laughing at him and his helpless state, and belittling him as if he were a lowly cabin boy was something Jack would never _ever_ forgive. Barbossa could grovel at his feet for all he cared, it would not save him from his vengeful wrath. Barbossa would die. Die, die, _die_. He would be completely removed from Earth. Jack would make sure nobody remembered him but for the single fact that he had been killed by Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow.

Barbossa's future being now settled, Jack contemplated the destiny of another man he had made the mistake to trust.

Bill would die too. Along with the rest of the crew. Mutinying men were to be hung according to the Sea rules, the King's law – any King's law, actually – and the Pirate's Code. He would do everything according to the code. He could not afford to sail with unrespecting men. Jack was the Captain, and as Captain, his person should have held over them the same respect and fear they had for the Sea, God, and Davy Jones. He had not been overlordly, too demanding or cruel, because it was not in his nature, but it was also not in his nature to let himself fall below his own men. If he had to gain his next crew's faith by hanging the former one, then he would.

And he would not regret it.

Still, the prospect of hanging Bill made his rum taste sour. Ah, well. He would just drink a bit more.

His hunger and thirst being satisfied to the moment, he rose again and danced to the door. Dear Captain Adriamson was dead, but there was obligatory a new Captain to this floating nut.

Jack made it to the deck without a problem, and headed to the rear where the helm was situated. A man was standing tiredly, holding the wheel in a lazy hand, and bowed over a very tattered map. As he walked to him, Jack noted the lack of activity and tidyness. There were only two other men tending to the sails.

At his approach, the man at the wheel lifted his gaze and held his for a while. The man was, just like the boy, of nordic descent. He was incredibly tall (at least a head over Jack) and had messy and dirty blond hair, tanned skin and clear blue eyes. The two other men had also this coloring, and stature. The wheeler's eyes were injected with blood, and Jack supposed it was either with drink or fatigue, or both.

« Where are we ? » Jack asked, formulating each word with care. The man looked him over, and then let his gaze wander a bit, as if searching for his wording far away on the horizon. And then, with a deep and rumbling voice. « Me don't know.

- Ah. Big help.

- Don't know.

- A got that already. »

Jack fidgeted, and looked over the map. It was old, and beaten, but accurate. There were lots of route markings and some crossing on islands. They obviously had stuck to shuttling the merchandise in the south Caribbean Sea, and a bit in Guyana, and northern South America. Cuba and its likes were new territories, and in Spring those waters could hold quite a surprise.

The man tapped his finger on an island. « You here. » So that was where they found him. That cross must have been put there to mark their cache. The long and thick finger trailed then east way, on the markings of a well travelled route. « Then we go here. » The finger trailed steadily north, a bit western. « And then no wind. » Uhuh. Trouble, then, for such a light ship. Very high on water, it had probably been carried away off course by some random currant that trailed down to southern Saint Domingue.

« You asleep. Sleveig tell you maybe die.

- Sleveig is the woman is she ?

- Yes. Captain's woman. Me sister.

- Oh. Great. You are ? » the man seemed to struggle a bit with the question, but finally figured out what he meant. « Kay Unterwald.

- Delighted to make your acquaintance. » The other man blinked. «What happened after the « No Wind » bit ?

- No wind. No stars. No sun.

- Uhuh…And then ?

- Storm…Big, big… her…hum…Huligan ?

- Hurricane. You're doin' great mate.

- Many man dead. Six still here and you. No stars » The man lifted his hand to the sky, white with heavy clouds. The sun was barely visible.

« He means we're lost. »

The voice erupted from somewhere beside his hip, and Jack jumped. He barely held his standing position again when landing, and staggered back to his former placing beside the wheel. This must be the second boy. The big brother. He was a perfect copy of his younger brother, complete with blue eyes and almost white blond hair. He was just a bit taller and older. Jack grinned, and presented his hand. « 'Lo mate. Captain Jack Sparrow.

- Kurt Adriamson

- Pleased to meet you. So we're lost ?

- Basically, yes. » The man Jack had been speaking to previously seemed relieved to have the boy take over the conversation. « We usually stuck to well known routes and rarely had to make our own. With my father's death we were unable to pinpoint our position, and have been wandering ever since the hurricane.

- You speak a very fine English for a foreign little boy.

- I was born in the Caribbean, and English was the only way to communicate between my father and mother.

- She wasn'… ?

- She's german. She doesn't speak a word of Dutch.

- Guess it explains everything. How long have I slept ?

- Over ten days.

- Damn. »

This was bad. If they had been able to navigate by themselves, he might have been able to bargain a passage to the nearest port. After all, sailing on well known routes was quite easy, a simple matter of checking positions with listings, and leaving the route when in sight of land. Being lost in high sea, however, was quite different and tremendously dangerous. It left very little room to make sure they'd let him off before Georgetown. It also seemed like he was the only one able to mark their position using only the sun.

« Let's suppose, boy, that I get you back on the route northern to Saint Domingue, and you let me get down there, and you get on with your trip to Georgetown. » The boy translated to the man wheeling, and they both frowned. Then, the man spoke quickly in a very funny language – very funny to Jack, at least. The boy lifted his chin, and the saucy glint in his eyes told Jack something was amiss.

« This won't do, Captain Sparrow. This is hurricane season, and now that we have somebody who knows what he's doing with a map, we think we should use up the opportunity to the brim.

- Who taught you to speak that way, mate ?

- That's beside the point. »

Jack clicked his tongue angrily, but the boy seemed quite unfazed by him doing so. « If you won't let me go at Saint Domingue, I won't help at all.

- Then you shall die even sooner than us, for we won't let you eat if you don't help us. »

The boy did not even check what to say with his captain. After a few seconds of icy silence, he added perkily. « We won't let you drink either, be that rum or water. » That little jerk was a harsh bargainer. He guessed smugglers did not care for foolish courage, skill with a blade or gun, great deeds in navigatory talent, but negociating should be required. Quite a match indeed, he felt ridiculous not to be able to beat an ant of a boy at his own game.

« Where are you going, after Georgetown ?

- We're staying there. We lost too much, and my mother won't keep sailing without my father. We're going to sell the ship and settle down. » Now that was interesting.

- How 'bout this : I take you all the way to Georgetown, teach one of you how to read a map, and then you let me get the ship for free. »

The boy was silent for a while. This was a generous offer, and Jack knew it. Captain Jack Sparrow's reputation of never getting lost was playing a good part there, and his teaching was something a sailor could seek. It could guarantee a position as a first mate on almost any ship, may it be a honest merchanting, or honest pirating. The boy spoke quietly with the man, and Kay Unterwald started to laugh. He was cut short by a quick tongue lashing of the boy's, and quietly listened further to what the diminutive blond had to say.

The Captain then shouted loudly to the two men sitting under the mast, and waited for their answers before discussing again with the boy. Kurt then skittled down below the deck for a few minutes. He came back running, and shouted something to the men sitting at the mast. Those two seemed to ponder a bit, and then concerted before giving an answer. Kurt shouted something to somebody below the deck, probably his mother, for a high pitched voice responded something Jack could not make out. The boy made his way back to the helm, grinning from ear to ear.

« You can have the ship for free, if you get us to Georgetown and take me as an apprentice.

- Sorry mate ? I think I didn' catch that well…

- You are to take me with you and teach me_ everything_ you know.

- That…That isn'…

- And don't even think of dumping me somewhere without me noticing.

- Well…Mate…I don' think…I mean…you're _tiny_.

- I'm twelve. I won't be that way for long. And I'm hardworking, and smart enough not to annoy you too much. I'll take care of feeding and clothing myself, and won't contradict you, save for the fact that I have to remain with you. »

That was it. This…This boy had to be the devil impersonated. There was no way…a _mere boy_ could come up with something like that. This…This was against everything Jack believed in. And even if the boy had had the idea, there was no way he could have convincedhis _mother_ to let him go like that.

But still…A ship that size for free…It was a _good _deal. And if the boy managed to stay at his side without either getting killed or « lost » in the process, then maybe he deserved to follow him. He'd make a great cabin boy once he got back the Pearl anyway.

« Done. »

The boy's grin widened further.

They moved on quickly, and the boy payed extra attention ever since. Jack asked for a compass and a sextant. He took note of the sun's position, the hour, and calculated where they were. They somehow had ended up in a northern bay of the Gulf in front of Florida, and were making their way East. He calculated that in three days time, provided they turned south immediately and had a good strong wind all the way, they could make it to Cuba, and there replenish their water tanks. Four more days, and they would be in Georgetown.

Something then collided with Jack's knees. He dropped his gaze to the floor, and met the startling blue eyes of one bemused Leig Adriamson. The little midget pointed lovingly at his older brother, and grinned. « He got you ! » Jack put on an indignant face – and he was in fact quite outraged – and answered quickly. « Nobody's got t'me ! A'm just too generous fo' me own good, 'at I am ! ». Even Kay Unterwald, who could not have figured more than the half of what had just happened, started to laugh.

The next few hours were very quiet, and in Jack's mind, quite dull also. Such a small ship had absolutely no pull, and it was seriously lacking in direction. The almost-flat hull was a good enough hint that they had gotten it for a cheap price, and only seldomly made the necessary repairs and cleanings. The highest yard of the main mast was at least three feet shorter on one side, and the rail had been crushed by some heavy item, most certainl yduring the hurricane.

Actually, Jack doubted it had been a hurricane. Maybe one hell of a good storm, but had it been a hurricane, they would most likely be feeding the fishes by now, for it was nigh impossible for them to have gone through it with the skill they displayed. Even more so if the they had been lost before hand.

He did not really care about it, since he had been sleeping all the time.

Now – in addition to killing Barbossa and getting the Pearl back – he had to find a way to get rid of that little mingler of a boy. That kid had gotten himself in much more trouble he thought he could handle. Being a pirate was much more straining than sailing on a small smuggler's ship with Mom, Dad, and Little Brother. He really was not in need of a soft hearted kid who would faint at the first sight of blood. Jack checked their direction on their compass, and corrected their course. He then lifted his gaze off the horizon and met that of the youngest child.

If Kurt was frightening with his acidic behaviour, Leig was just downright creepy. How a plain woman such as Sleveig Adriamson could have birthed those two monsters – and raise them without turning mad herself – was a true statement to the proverbial hidden strengh of plain people. Maybe it would have been interesting to meet the father.

As it was, Leig was currently sitting cross-legged on the side, his back to the prow, eyeing him with an expression of slight curiosity and knowing glee. His small mouth curved into a tiny amused smile, and he was playing with one of his shoes, with all the innocence and simplicity a child could gather when playing.

The wind suddenly picked up, and the ship gave a jerk. Kay Unterwald barked two orders to the two remainnig men, while he started climbing on the rigging himself. One of them followed him on the main mast, and the third took up to the foresail. Jack observed the sky, and gave a satisfied grunt. The weather kept improving, and the wind would soon chase the remaining clouds away.

« Why are you going to Georgetown ? » He blurted the question without noticing it at first. He just needed to overcome the stiff silence that had settled since the agreement. Leig scratched his nose before making a show of not understanding what was wrong about going to Georgetown. « On the map, Saint Domingue is five day closer than Georgetown, to where you first were. And it is bigger also, why not stop there ?

- Mutty has an uncle there. He will maybe help us.

- Right. How old are you ?

- Seven.

- Do you happen to know how I can convince your brother it _is _dangerous to come with me ?

- You can't.

- I'm Capt'n Jack Sparrow boy. There's nothin' I canno' do.

- Well that you can't do. Kurt will come with you.

- I'm sure A can thin' of somethin'.

- No. With bargains, he is just like Mutty with hats.

- Mutty with hats ? »

At that very moment, Kurt came back from the hold with two hats. They were wide flat hats, with a battered string that got under the chin, and of a rough indeterminate dark material hovering between leather and felt. He handed one to his brother, and kept the other, putting it on. It was a bit too large on his head, and he pushed it back a bit to free his eyes from under the brim. He looked over to Jack, and muttered in an apologetic manner. « I tried to find one for you, but we don't have a spare hat.

- Don' worry. I made just fine with no hat at all for twenty years, there's no probem, mate.

- You will however be happy to learn that I did find an old one you can use. »

The three of them turned around to the woman who stood on their left. She had a brown three cornered hat in her hands, and presented it to Jack.

What the hell was with that woman ? He did not need a hat ! She was not his _mother_ for Pete's sake ! He looked at the offered item with a mix of incredulity and disgust, and then declined with the utmost politeness for the kind offer. But no, thank you, Captain Jack Sparrow did not need a hat.

The glare she sent his way could have made Barbossa himself wimper. Her brown eyes seemed to darken, her face tensed, her mouth was reduced to a very fine line, and her hands contracted on the brim of the hat she was presenting him with. From the corner of his eye, Jack saw the two boys' light shuddering and mourning faces. When she spoke, her voice had only but a faint memory of the tender and caring tone she had used when tending to him.

« You just woke up from a sun _stroke_ and claim you_ don't_ need a hat ? Just _who_ do you think you are, Mr. Sparrow ?

- Somebody wh' doesn' need a hat, M'am. » There was a sharp intake of air on his side, and he saw Kurt turn several shades paler than he already was. « I'm Captain Jack Sparrow after all. » He then flashed a proud and confident smile. Which she flashed right back.

- And _I_ happen to be Sleveig Adriamson, and if you don't put this hat on _at once_, you'll be eating canned sprouts and drinking lukewarm water until we reach Georgetown. »

_This_ is where Kurt's skill came from, then. The perfect stillness and assurance of her demeanor, as well as the almost wild rage in her eyes while she spoke finally convinced Jack to reach for the hat, and to put it on. He did like sprouts alright, but dinking water during the whole trip was not to take into consideration. Satisfied with his show of good will, Sleveig made her way back downstairs. As soon as she was out of sight, Jack took off the hat, and settled it down on the wooden stand in front of the wheel that already bore the compass and the map.

« I really wouldn't do that, » said Kurt, fidgeting and crumpling his shirt. Leig silently nodded.

And, just a few seconds later, a gun shot loudly in front of them. Jack felt the bullet graze his skull, ripping a few strands of hair. Sleveig stood at the top of the stairs, a smoking musket clutched between her hands. She hissed. « And keep it _on_. » Jack didn't even try to disagree.

« Because she always _knows_ when somebody hasn't got his hat on. I don't know how she does. It's just like me when somebody is trying to trick me, » whispered Kurt to Jack, hiding his mouth with his hand from his retreating mother ; as if she also had supernatural hearing. Jack clapped his tongue, and made sure his hat was firmly tucked on his head.

Having a hat was bothersome, especially when he had not bothered with one for so long. It kept slipping down either on his nose, or on the back of his head, and he had to let go of the wheel from one hand to pull it back in place. The wind was shaking it so much he kept thinking it might fly overboard – and he was sure that she-devil of a woman would make him turn round to fetch it back. And since it was a three-cornered hat, it did not even protect his sight from the sun that was poking its nose through the clouds.

Jack sighed, and resolved himself to suffer the hat for the time being. He could handle it for a week, in less than ten days, at most, he'd be leaving Georgetown – and that dreaded hat.

The days of the trip to Cuba were uneventful. Jack checked the course twice a day, under the watchful eye of a very interested Kurt, and enthusiastic Leig. The first one was eager to learn, the second, just excited to have a _real _live pirate on board. To his defense, Kurt was a smart child, and even if his questions were from time to time a bit naive, he was not as soft hearted as Jack could have thought him to be. He was, after all, the impersonation of the devil – he did beat Jack in a bargaining match.

Life on the Dancing Nut was easy. Sleveig Adriamson was an admirable cook, and a very decent company when one made sure he had his hat on outdoors. And Jack found her a good friend to have, for she had very inventive ideas of how he could trick Barbossa, once he explained the matter of his depressed state. The thing with the toothpicks, he expected to be particularly painful.

After he got up in the morning, and settled the direction for the day, they had a bit of breakfast while the two men who stayed awake at night had a meal more of a dinner. Then they sailed five hours straight until Sleveig called for lunch, and after that, seven more hours.

Kurt already knew a bit about sailing. He had been born and raised on a ship, and had an inate sense of the wind and fits to make to the sails when changing the course. He knew a whole set of useful knots, and all Jack had to teach him on that point had to be taught on a ship of a bigger size.

On the other hand, he was seriously lacking in fighting skills. He coud defend himself with a short knife, but against anyone taller than he was, or a bit more experienced, he was almost defenseless. They found a short and light cutlass that could be used more easily against swords and sabres, and Jack recommanded getting a rapier, that would fit his size and strengh better. The boy was fast, but had almost no coordination, nor balance. The first mock-fights between he and Jack were deceptievely short lived.

Teaching was something completely new to Jack Sparrow. He was a very young Captain – twenty six was not that old to reach the position ! – and had never had to teach anything to anybody. It took him some time – three-and-a-half days – to figure out it would never be useful to show everything at the same time. Kurt simply could not keep up. After that epiphany, Jack got slower, gave the boy the time to see and digest everything he was showing him, and things got better.

When Kay Unterwald relieved Jack from the wheel, or any task he and the boy had been at, the pirate would tell stories. He loved to tell stories. Pirates – and sailors more generally – were good listeners and had very wide imaginations. Children were even better. He spoke a lot about the Black Pearl with such passion and details it seemed to appear in front of their very eyes. With wide eyes, the two boys listened until late at night about the fastest ship in the whole Caribbean, of its dark sails and ebony hull ; of its gentle rocking at night on a quiet sea and its almost carefree gallop atop the craziest tempest.

And speaking about the Pearl that way to people that had never ever approached it, much less stepped onto its deck, was a relief for Jack. It made him release any anguish and anger he might have nourrished, and every night he went to bed with his mind more at rest. He would get his ship back. There was no doubt about this. Should he wait his whole life to catch it again, he would still continue pursuing it, relentless and patient.

Every morning Sleveig would wake him, softly shaking his shoulder, and then that of her eldest son who slept in the same cabin. When they got out of the galley after breakfast, she would ruthlessly remind them to put on their hats, and to have a good day. She would smile and laugh also, and it did not seem as if she had just lost a husband. Jack, politely, did not inquire.

After they left Cuba, sailing got a tad bit more difficult, for they had to change directions every two hours at least to keep to the shortest route. It was not possible to wedge the wheel, nor was it possible for Jack to remain awake four days straight to make sure they were not blown off course. He made sure to show to Kurt how to properly pinpoint their position, and what to do, and what to expect. He let him have the night watch, for he knew stars and could direct himself more easily at night.

« So, can I stay with you ? » The question took him by surprise. They were finally in sight of Georgetown's harbor, and Kay Unterwald was taking care of bringing them to their mooring. Jack turned to his left, where Kurt rested against the rail. The boy was wistfully watching the shore, his mouth upturned in a melancholic smile. Jack lifted an eyebrow, widened his eyes and said unconvincingly :

« What ? » Kurt's smile widened a bit, and he turned toward Jack.

« May I stay with you ?

- And why not ? 'T was part of the bargain, wasn'it ? Or are you havin' second thoughts ?

- Oh, no, none at all. It's just…If you were to hate my presence, I can hardly impose… »

That was just so _tempting_ all he had to say was « I don' wan' t'be bothered by a whelp like you'self. » and he would be free of half of his deal. Yet, the second before he was to answer just that, he bit it back. Kurt would know it was a lie. Firstly, because the boy was no whelp at all. Actually, he was probaby a better pirate already than many. Secondly, Jack could use company. To chase after a ship on his own woud be foolish, and if he did his job well, Kurt could become a real asset – to his reputation even, if the boy was to grow famous.

Jack sighed, and patted the dark hat covering Kurt's blond head. « It's alright. You can come. It'll take no small work, but you should becom'a great pirate one day. »

Kurt's smile shone like the moon.

Sleveig and Leig Adriamson were the first to leave. Sleveig's uncle lived more inland, and they departed the morning after their arrival. Kurt gave a hug to his brother, and a very long one to his mother. The woman buried her face in the crook of her son's neck, and the four men aboard turned modestly away to let her weep in peace. She made him promise to write, as often as he could spare the time. She gave him the address of their uncle, and that of an inn in Tortuga where she would write back. At last, she made her goodbyes to the two men she had sailed with during eight years, and to her brother.

Ten minutes later, they disappeared.

During the four days afterwards, the remaining men left, and found a job on a fishing ship. Kay Unterwald was the last to leave, and reduced his goodbye to his nephew to a light pat on the head, and a look and nod toward Jack. And they were left alone.

Jack engaged six men, tricking them into thinking he was actually employed by a trading company and sure to make a lot of money once in the southern Carribean Sea. They set sail eight days after arriving, heading southward to Port-of-Spain where they were to commandeer a bigger ship and leave toward the north-east, on the trail of the Black Pearl.

As they were exiting the harbor, they saw on the dock two people running toward the ocean. Using the spyglass, they recognised Sleveig and Leig, who were waving their hats – bonnet in Seveig's case – goodbye. Without thinking twice, Jack and Kurt both waved their hats back. A hat was quite the handy thing in the end.

* * *

Voilà!!

This is the story of how Jack got 'The Hat'

There will be a sequel, setting during 'The Curse of the Black Pearl' universe, and, of course, the speed at wich it will be written, and then published will highly depend on how many review I get (it will be published anyway I guess, reviews just happen to be reeaally useful to speed up the process.)

Take care you all!!


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